


Controversial Dish, Veal...

by elvisqueso



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut, Veal is a controversial dish, on a Vladimir Kagen, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvisqueso/pseuds/elvisqueso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dammit, I wanted to know what happened after that dinner</p>
<p>Set right after the "Dinner Where Hannibal and Gillian Anderson Exchange Suggestive Looks" in Savoreux.  Naturally, I assumed Hannibal and Gillian Anderson got it on.<br/>Just a nice almost PWP sexytime for these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Controversial Dish, Veal...

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. Feel free to nit-pick, I like having lots of input in order to improve my writing.  
> Enjoy.

 

“You have to be careful, Hannibal” Bedelia spoke carefully, weighing and measuring every syllable of her speech, “they’re starting to see your pattern.”

‘And what pattern might that be?”

Bedelia is no fool.  She knows that how she answers this will determine whether or not she lives or dies.

“You establish relationships with dangerous patients prone to violence.”  She pauses and looks into his eyes – no, the eyes he wears over his real eyes – swallows her veal, “that pattern.”

He smiles.

Controversial dish, veal.  Such a young animal.

“That pattern,” he repeats, as if trying the words on for size, “and you are concerned by this pattern?”

“As your psychiatrist, it is my duty to advice you against what could be self-destructive behavior.” She says.

“And are we here as psychiatrist and patient, Doctor Du Maurier?”

There is danger in that question, and another question within it that is even more dangerous.

“No.  I would say not, Hannibal.”

That smile again.

Notwithstanding the controversy, veal has a rare tenderness that can’t be found in other meats.  Perhaps that is why ethics can be bent in favor of it.

The wine is red like blood, and Bedelia drinks it heavily.

When they have finished, Hannibal clears the plates away and offers to clean them in the sink.

“There is no need.  I have a dishwasher.”  Bedelia says.  “But you may join me in the den.  Help me finish this wine.”

“But of course,” he says, “I would never let a friend finish a bottle of Merlot alone.”

The den is made for relaxing, a plush Vladimir Kagen set in front of a black granite fireplace.  A bundle of wood is set neatly beside it, along with a rack of small silver pokers and shovels for the ash.

“A wood burning fireplace?”

“It was a touch the architect thought would bring a natural feel to the room.  Can’t say it has done me much good.  I’m terrible at starting fires.”

“Fortunately for you tonight, I am good at starting fires.”  Hannibal removes his jacket and folds it on the back of the sofa.  He rolls his sleeves back as Bedelia sits, wine glass in hand, and watches.  _Now I know_ , she thinks, _why he wears those suits all the time_.  Beneath so many layers of pomp is a lean, muscular body; distractingly graceful and very telling of his ability.  The suits are yet another disguise, in addition to a hobby.

Soon, Hannibal has a fire roaring in the fireplace, and he sits down next to Bedelia, graciously accepting a glass of merlot.

“You are terrible at starting fires, so you say,” he muses as he quaffs the sweet, tart liquid, “but how are you at keeping them going once they have been started?”

Veal tastes sweet, for a meat.  The flavor rests on the tongue for as long as you let it.

“I’m about as good at keeping a fire going as anyone else, I suppose.”

She couldn’t have drunk that much wine already.  Hannibal was already re-filling their glasses.  The fire crackled in the space, casting flickering oranges and reds over the room.  Even Hannibal’s stone face seemed alive.

Wine glasses are forgotten on the end table.  The next few seconds are only hands, lips, teeth and breaths.  Hannibal lays her out on the couch.  His hands travel along her arms, her torso, her thighs, her hair, cheek, fingers trailing over lips plump from the onslaught.  He looks at her with a fevered intensity, lips parted, pupils diluted, hair broken from its place on his head and falling into his face.  She knows this will be the closest she will ever get to the real Hannibal.  Her fingers trace the lines of his face, and run through strands of hair before tangling themselves as Hannibal grinds into her.  He buries his face in her neck, licking, sucking, biting.

She moans as his hand finds its way up her dress and under her undergarments, his fingers rubbing her clit and along her lips.  She has managed to undo his tie.  The more disheveled she makes him, the more feral, the more real.

He slips off her underwear and dives down between her legs.  He licks and leaves kisses along her thighs and she keeps her fingers in his hair.  The orange light from the fire and the heat suffocating.  Hannibal eats her out with a hunger, obscene slurping and sucking noises filling Bedelia’s ears, drowning out her on moans.  He stops abruptly and muffles her disappointed whimpers with his mouth.  She feels him unsheathe himself and prod at her entrance.

Time pauses as he enters her.  Even the licks of flame stop mid-flicker, almost crystal like.  He waits patiently for her to adjust and begins to move in long, slow drags.  Bedelia wraps her legs about his waist in an attempt to take in more of him.  The fire roars in time, as Hannibal increases his speed, syncopates his rhythm, driving her mad.  He buries his face in her hair and she feels him inhale as they get close.  She comes with a cry and sees stars and lighting strikes and billowing flames in his eyes.  He’s not far behind and he comes with a strangled grunt, collapsing atop her, breathing only slightly ragged, the only exhaustion he would be willing to admit.

Controversial dish, veal.

 


End file.
